White House Villa.
The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Maximus set his keys down on the table. No rush. No tension. Just quiet certainty in every movement. Then he removed his jacket, and his movements, it was slower, controlled, heavy.
“Max…” She turned to him, worry tightening her chest. “are you sure it’s okay? Cavelle was already waiting.”
Maximus looked at her, calm as ever. “It’s fine.”
“But—”
“They can wait,” he said, stepping closer. “I meant it.”
Before Samantha could argue again, he moved, not rushed, just a clean, confident action; his hand rose to her jaw, steady and warm, guiding her face up to his.
And he kissed her.
A firm, sure press of his lips to hers—not long, not searching, just enough to silence her worry, to anchor her, to say I’m here. It’s handle
